


the stars in your eyes (shined brighter in tupelo)

by allisonattheorpheum



Series: the evermore collection [1]
Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Dirty Candy (Julie and The Phantoms), F/F, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Flynn (Julie and The Phantoms), Post-Canon, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28563696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allisonattheorpheum/pseuds/allisonattheorpheum
Summary: “like you said,” flynn picked up carrie’s hand in her own. “exploring what it means to be yourself? i’m always myself, duh, but… it feels like something’s missing.”carrie’s heart was a runaway train.(or how carrie and flynn found their way back to each other.)
Relationships: Flynn & Julie Molina & Carrie Wilson, Flynn/Carrie Wilson
Series: the evermore collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097033
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44





	the stars in your eyes (shined brighter in tupelo)

**Author's Note:**

> what started out as a simple carrie/flynn 5+1 in my head turned into a carrie wilson character study, complete with carrie/flynn/julie friendship, fallout, and reconciliation. thank you to [liv](https://alexjulies.tumblr.com) and [alexandria](https://merceralexs.tumblr.com/) for lending their eyes and thoughts to my little story.
> 
> title, sections titles, and inspiration from taylor swift's "dorothea."

i.  
when we were younger

when carrie, flynn, and julie were eight years old, they made a lot of friendship bracelets. every time their parents would go to the store, innocent eyes would look up and tiny voices would ask -- no, plead -- for new colors of embroidery floss, the strands of which would become something like currency between the three best friends. on the weekends, the girls would meet on julie’s front porch, their fists full of threaded rainbows. hours were spent cross-legged on julie’s purple butterfly bedspread. rose and ray would come and go, bringing carrots and treats and juice boxes, their actions mostly ignored by the girls.

one saturday morning, carrie’s dad gifted her with a full-on friendship bracelet kit: thread, beads, little silver clasps to put on the ends, the whole nine yards. she spent the drive over to julie’s so excited to show her friends the kit and, as soon as she did, the two girls pushed their own stashes to the side (“these beads are so much cooler than the ones i have!”). carrie beamed. 

“let’s all do matching ones with beads, okay?” she started picking through the shiny white spheres with black letters on them, pulling out a c, a j, and an f. 

flynn reached across carrie, the breeze from the movement causing goosebumps on carrie’s arms. “is it okay if i use this one?” flynn asked, picking up a bundle of turquoise floss. “i have a pink,” she went back to her own ziplock bag of colors. “it’s really pretty, like you.”

carrie thought her cheeks would hurt forever from the smile that put on her face.

from her spot against the pillows, julie giggled. “flynny,” she said, tongue trying to poke out between the gap in her teeth. “we’re all pretty.”

“yeah, but some of us more than others… like peanut butter bear bear!” carrie said, giggling. she picked up the stuffed toy from where it had fallen onto the floor and set it upright against a pillow, smoothed down its fur. “julie, do you want a new purple?” she asked, returning to her bracelet kit. “look at this one!”

*

later, when the bracelets had been made and the chocolate chip cookies devoured, flynn and carrie waiting on the porch for their parents, flynn poked carrie in the arm.

“flynn!” carrie pinched her in return. “what was that for?”

“just ‘cause,” flynn grabbed carrie’s wrist, looked at the pink bracelet, c bead bold and centered. “do you wanna switch?”

“what about julie?” carrie asked.

“how many bracelets have we switched, dummy?” flynn dropped carrie’s wrist, undid the clasp on her turquoise one. “she won’t care.”

carrie did the same with hers, baby pink to match the way her cheeks were flushing. flynn circled her bracelet around carrie’s wrist, closed the clasp, adjusted it so the f was right in the middle. “there,” she said. “now friends forever.”

carrie scoffed, as much as an innocent eight-year-old could. “we already will be friends forever, stupid.” she grabbed flynn’s wrist and hooked her bracelet around it, the pink luminous against flynn’s dark skin. “It’s really pretty,” carrie said, mirroring flynn’s words from earlier. “like you.”

the two girls giggled, admired each other's wrists until their parents showed up, said their goodbyes. the whole way home, carrie hoped that forever meant just that.

ii.  
pageant schemes

carrie was eleven when she asked to know more about her mother. julie had a mother; rose was joyous singalongs, tight hugs and even tighter braids pulling carrie’s skin taut. flynn had a mother; eve was fluorescent smiles, author of fantastical plays the girls put on in the backyard. carrie had a mother, in theory, but… it was just that: a theory. so when trevor told his daughter that mrs. molina would be helping her get ready for the local little miss pageant, carrie did what she had been wanting to do for years.

“why isn’t my mom helping me?” her voice was steel, cold and strong.

trevor, bless his heart, had thought that maybe he’d gotten away with never having to have this conversation. he’d given carrie everything he never had growing up - the toys, the mansion, the ride of a lifetime with a rockstar for a dad. he’d been naïve to think that those things would fill the mom-shaped space in carrie’s heart.

before he could answer, carrie spoke again. “she didn’t want me, right?” the air grew thick, trevor’s breaths ragged as he fumbled around an answer that wouldn’t completely shatter his pre-teen daughter’s spirit. 

“we both wanted you, sweetie.” he tried to ignore how carrie rolled her eyes. “some people just can’t handle being a parent as well as others.”

carrie’s quick inhale was hidden by the sound of knocking and julie’s voice through the door. “carrie!” julie’s voice had a melody to it even when she didn’t try. “mom said i could help with your hair! you’re gonna look like a poodle.”

trevor cleared his throat, “guess you better get your things.” his goodbye hug didn’t fix the hollowness carrie felt.

*

later, as julie tried her best to secure a foam roller in carrie’s hair, flynn caught her eye from across the room. “what’s wrong?” she mouthed, trying and failing at subtlety. carrie picked at the worn turquoise bracelet around her wrist, ran her fingers across the bead. “tell you alone?” she mouthed back. flynn nodded.

“julie, are you trying to stab that bobby pin directly into my brain or what? i need a break.”

julie’s pout was practically audible. “fine,” she said. “i have to get more rollers, anyways. go get us snacks, but don’t let mom catch you with food in your teeth.”

the walk to the kitchen was quiet, the sounds of ray and carlos playing in a different room echoing throughout the hallway. if it weren’t for the magnetic energy that seemed to constantly surround flynn, carrie might’ve forgotten she was there.

“i asked dad about my mom,” she said. flynn’s hand instantly found hers, the two cupped together so tightly even daylight couldn’t find its way through.

“and... ?” flynn prompted. carrie looked straight ahead but could feel flynn’s eyes on her, tried to ignore the way that just the thought of her best friend’s infinite brown irises planted a seed in her heart.

“he said some people can’t handle being parents,” she turned her head, but still didn’t quite meet flynn’s gaze. “i’m too much to handle, flynn,” her voice broke, the usual steel weakening. 

flynn laid her free hand on carrie’s shoulder, turning the girl so that they were facing each other, barely any space between them. “don’t ever say that, carrie wilson,” flynn said, with as much conviction as an eleven-year-old could muster. “you’re just a girl, not a demon or something. you’re not the reason she left.”

carrie smiled, sniffed a little (no, she wasn’t crying, thank you very much). “sometimes i think about what a real family would be like.”

flynn’s face lit up and carrie thought it was one of the most beautiful things she had ever seen. “you have a real family, stupid. your dad, julie, me? even an annoying little almost-brother who eavesdrops on our secrets. we won’t leave you.”

carrie definitely didn’t focus on the way flynn’s hand shifted around hers, fingers now laced together. “i won’t leave you, okay?” carrie nodded, felt a few of the butterflies from julie’s (new, but still purple) bedspread find their way into her stomach.

“okay,” she said. she believed flynn, trusted her fiercely. yet despite the butterflies, despite the interwoven fingers with their chipped yellow and blue nails, carrie knew, deep down, that people leaving her was something she would grow used to.

iii.  
a lark of the misery

the story of carrie and nick goes something like this: on, off, on again, off again. rinse, wash, repeat. during the first “off,” before the hairline fractures in the carrie-julie-flynn trio started to become unfixable shattered china, the three had gone to a café to mend carrie’s heart with sugary drinks.

“he’s going to come crawling back before you know it, care-bear,” julie said, taking a sip of her hot chocolate. the old nickname made carrie smile.

“jules is right,” agreed flynn. “we don’t really talk to the guy but we can tell he’s super into you.”

carrie sighed, picked a crumb off of the muffin she had ordered. “i hope you’re right, girls,” she said. “being with nick can only help my reputation.” as soon as she said the words, she regretted it. she couldn’t miss the look shared between julie and flynn.

“right,” julie stood up, grabbed her bag. “mom’s having a rough day so i’m gonna head home. i’ll call you later, flynn.”

carrie pretended like that exclusion didn’t hurt. “tell rose i’ll be thinking about her, okay?” julie only nodded before turning towards the door. 

“i didn’t - ” flynn cut carrie short with a pointed look. 

“you didn’t mean it, i know,” flynn’s voice was soft. “but you can’t blame us for feeling like we’re becoming less and less important. i mean, with nick, your girl group… there won’t be much time left for little ol’ double trouble.”

“that’s not true,” carrie put as much conviction behind her words as she could. “i’ll always have time for you.” 

you meaning flynn, her sarcasm and humor, her starry eyes, her ridiculous dog-shaped bags that she kept collecting more of. you meaning julie, of course, always julie, but the sting of julie walking away didn’t seem to hurt as much as the mere idea of flynn being the one to do so. 

“come on, care,” flynn reached across the table and shook carrie’s arm, looped a finger around the turquoise bracelet that still, six years later, circled carrie’s wrist. “i can’t believe this thing hasn’t fallen apart yet.”

“yeah, well, my dad really thought ahead with the kit that had these clasps in it,” carrie said. “yours must not have been as lucky.”

flynn looked down at her wrist, covered in numerous bracelets, but none faded pink with beads of their initials. “yeah,” she said, not looking back up. “guess i shouldn’t have worn it in the shower so many times.” the attempt at a joke didn’t mask the fact that it sounded like she was lying.

“hey,” carrie said, tapping her index finger against flynn’s chin, relishing the sight of pale pink polish against flynn’s luminous skin. “it’s just a bracelet, right? let’s get back to bashing a certain boy.” 

flynn grabbed carrie’s finger, brought it to her open mouth as if she’d bite it clean off at the knuckle. her exhale was hot against carrie’s skin, nerve endings on fire. there was no way the flames weren’t visible to everyone in the café.

“alright, queen bee,” flynn said. “rule number one: hearts don’t get broken over boys in fedoras.”

carrie laughed, genuine and loud. there she was; the flynn that carrie had known since they were sucking their thumbs, watching in awe as rose’s fingers flew across the piano keys. even though the cracks had grown wider, more fragile, with julie, maybe she could keep those with flynn glued together for a little bit longer.

iv.  
still the same soul

the loss of rose hit carrie in a way that she couldn’t explain. even if she could, there was no one around to listen. julie and flynn were gone - julie wading through her grief, tucking her music into an unreachable place, flynn by her side. even if the two (because that’s what it was now, three minus one) were still talking to her, it’s not like she could say “hey, julie, your mom dying really messed me up.”

flynn had called carrie, a few days after it happened. carrie had talked for a couple of minutes, mentioned how much she already missed rose, how much she was hurting. flynn was silent, until: “are you even going to ask about jules?” the ice was already forming in her words.

“julie, of course,” carrie had said. “how is she?”

“how is she? are you serious, carrie? her mom died and you haven’t even called. it’s like we’re afterthoughts to you now.”

“that’s not true,” carrie’s words had held no conviction behind them. 

“it is and you know it. our whole lives, julie and i have been by your side. we always listened when you wanted to talk about your mom being gone. well, now rose is dead and you still can’t stop talking about yourself. we aren’t good enough for your sugar-coated world anymore, carrie. message received.”

flynn had hung up before carrie could even process what she had said.

so she did what she did best. she put up a wall, one built out of pink wigs and sequins and a resting bitch face for the ages. she worked harder than she ever had, asked her dad for a choreographer, a costume designer, anything to put her one step ahead of the pack. dirty candi would not, could not fail, not after what she had lost along the way. 

her wall was also built out of nick. he was sweet, popular and talented, and carrie knew she was lucky, but he was always one therapy-lite comment away from being dumped. again. “i think this whole thing with julie’s mom is just bringing up everything with your mom, right?” right. he was right. but carrie didn’t owe him an explanation; he didn’t know her when rose would wipe her snotty nose and put a band-aid on her scraped knee. he didn’t know her when carrie followed rose outside and asked her shyly if she could be her mom, too. he didn’t know her then and he only knew what she let him know now so, really, he should just stay out of it. 

she was fine. she had her wall. and if her heart broke over and over again when she saw flynn and julie send her dirty looks in the halls, well. she had a snarky comeback for that.

*

most schools didn’t have girl groups perform at lacrosse games, but carrie didn’t go to most schools. carrie, kayla, and the other girls (she knew their names, of course she did, but their purpose was to support carrie and there wasn’t a lot of time for familiarities) nailed their performance of “turn it up.” the crowd was rapt, as they usually were, and carrie wanted to bottle the cheers she heard after nailing a particularly tricky spin-into-split combo.

carrie had the girls head back to the school before her, told them she wanted to wait for nick. she really just wanted some time alone. she loved performing, she did, but it was getting more and more difficult to separate her dirty candi persona from the real her once the show was over. the idea of losing the real her altogether scared her more than she knew how to handle. she kicked at the grass alongside the sidewalk with her pink combat boot, admired the scuff it left behind.

a voice echoing under the bleachers caught her attention: flynn yelling into her phone, stabbing at the screen with her finger, slipping it back into her pocket. carrie weighed the pros and cons of going under them, too, just to say hi. pro: it was flynn. con: flynn hated her. she ducked under the metal.

“hey,” she said. “everything okay?”

the glare flynn shot at her could freeze an ocean. “why are you here? shouldn’t you be off spending daddy’s money?”

carrie deflated. “flynn, i -- ” 

“what do you want, carrie? seriously,” flynn stepped a little closer, eyes wide, hands in fists at her side. “i have bigger things to deal with than whatever acid you want to throw at me.”

“i just heard you on the phone and wanted to make sure you were okay,” carrie said. her arms were sticky with glitter and the thought of ripping the glitz off bit by bit was less painful than flynn’s venomous voice.

“i’m fine,” flynn spat. “why do you care?”

“flynn, i… ” carrie played with the ends of her wig. “actually,” she raised her voice to its most saccharine tone, “i just wanted to tell you that my new video is up. it could always use more views, even from you.”

she turned, ignoring the way that flynn’s eyes flashed with something more than anger (sadness, maybe, longing or hurt), and walked away, arms crossed over her chest. maybe her old self had already disappeared and she hadn’t even noticed. what was the point of fighting it when no one who would have even remembered the real her had stuck around?

v.  
you’ll always know me

carrie had not gone to the orpheum with an open mind. she had gone to the orpheum with anger like a storm cloud. dirty candi had been around for longer than julie’s stupid holograms, played more spirit rallies and open mics than she could even count, yet they still weren’t the ones getting an opening slot at such an iconic venue (nevermind the fact that dirty candi hardly felt real to carrie, nor the fact that carrie wasn’t sure she even knew what “real” meant anymore).

so carrie had not had an open mind. in the year since julie’s mom had died, since carrie had officially drawn a line in the sand between her and her old friends, her mind was anything but. It was closed, firmly (also closed? the jewelry box on her highest shelf, holding one miraculously still-in-tact turquoise bracelet). as she sat on the vip couch next to her dad, as he greeted this friend and that fan, carrie didn’t think about anything except how she could win. 

julie walked onto the stage, put a dahlia on the keyboard. an image of rose popped into carrie’s head, rose holding a dahlia so big that it was a miracle the stem didn’t fold under its weight. carrie pushed it away -- childhood memories of friends shoved aside wouldn’t help dirty candi succeed. 

julie started her introduction to the song, something about special friends and her mom, following your dreams and standing tall. it was so perfectly julie and, for a second, carrie felt something break free in her heart. she locked it back in. julie played a few notes, leaned into the microphone, but nothing came through the speakers except for feedback.

carrie smirked. “been here before.”

*

carrie hadn’t gone to the orpheum with an open mind. but as julie and her hologram bandmates stood at the end of the stage and took their bow, she decided a closed one wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. carrie loved performing, she did, but she saw in julie something that she never felt in herself when she was on stage with dirty candi: truth.

carrie hadn’t known truth for so long.

so she stood, and she clapped, and that felt better than anything she had done in a long time.

“don’t leave without me, dad,” she said, a few minutes after julie left the stage. “i’m going to go find someone.”

trevor, who seemed just as surprised as she was about what had just happened on the stage, nodded. “have fun with nick, sweetie, i’ll wait here.” it was like his mind was miles away.

carrie didn’t find julie as she worked her way around the venue, but she did find flynn, leaning against a pillar towards the back of the space.

“hey,” carrie said. “where’s julie?”

flynn shot daggers with her eyes. “why? so you can find some way to ruin this moment, too? make it about you somehow?”

carrie sighed. “no, flynn, i swear. that was incredible. julie is incredible. i just wanted to congratulate her.”

flynn softened a little. “she’s in the back with her family. i can... i’ll give her the message.”

“thanks, that’d be great,” carrie smiled but didn’t show her teeth. “i hope,” she stopped herself. “yeah, if you could just tell julie… that song was beautiful.”

she turned, took a few steps back towards trevor, cautioned a glance back over her shoulder. flynn was looking right at her.

“kindness suits you, carrie,” she called over the hum of the crowd. “maybe you should remember that.”

carrie nodded, turned back towards the stage. it felt like something new, something important, that she didn’t have anything to say in return.

and i.  
come back to my side

to put it mildly, things had been weird since julie’s band had played the orpheum. weird in the sense that carrie’s dad had taken therapy to a whole new level and, when he wasn’t there, there would be a continuous, dulcet om coming from his room. carrie was used to him being zen but it was obvious something was up. things were also weird in the sense that carrie had felt lighter, calmer, more at peace than she had in a long time in the three months since the performance.

nick had called, but his voice was lower, drawn out, and it was like he was rehearsing for a character from the early 1900s. “whatever you’re doing isn’t going to work,” carrie had said. she had apologized, though, for how she had treated him throughout their roller coaster of a relationship. she wasn’t sure if he had even heard her, but she had given herself credit for trying.

she hadn’t talked to flynn since after julie’s show, but she couldn’t help but feel something like hope. she would never be able to take back what she did, but she could try to explain, try to lay her selfishness and mistakes bare. she’d never been so scared to just try. sure, things between her and julie were still a mess; she wanted to work on it, but julie was understandably busy and carrie was still practicing her apology speech (and the speech she’d need before that to even get julie to listen). 

what shouldn’t have been weird, then, was the fact that carrie was about to take the stage for a performance. her dentist’s daughter was turning eight and he had asked if dirty candi would do a song or two. “sure,” she had said. “but the group’s going through maintenance. i’ll be there.”

she had said it without thinking but she knew it was right. since the orpheum, dirty candi had played a few gigs; in one, carrie had missed a critical step, running over kayla and nearly falling off of the stage. after all of them, she couldn’t wait to pull off her wig and change out of her costume. the lyrics felt empty, the movements inorganic. the applause that had once filled her with smug satisfaction had only caused a ringing in her ears.

carrie had created dirty candi and she could destroy it just as easily. so she did. the girls were shocked, but shock had turned to joyful surprise when carrie told them that she would keep them hooked up with their choreographer and the rest of the squad. a crucial step in the carrie wilson plan for reinvention? don’t just look out for yourself.

it turned out, though, that walking onto a tiny backyard stage by herself, with no pink hair and no sequins, no back-up dancers and her dad’s old acoustic guitar in her hand, was a hell of a lot different than what she was used to. it was undeniably weird.

a couple dozen sun-kissed faces stared up at her, hands sticky with dripping popsicles. this backyard was missing a lot of the greenery julie’s had, but the feeling was the same: hot sun, freedom, and friends who had nothing more to worry about than the ice-cream truck confection in their hand. carrie imagined flynn and julie, small and carefree, amongst the crowd, little ghosts of what she’d taken for granted.

“hi,” she said, making sure she wasn’t slipping into her overly-sweet dirty candi voice. “i just wrote this song, would it be okay if i played it for you?” the kids nodded, creepily synchronized, eyes wide-open in awe. “i hope you like it! happy birthday, harper!” the girl, who’d once walked in on carrie with a mouth full of fluoride and a chin slick with drool, waved furiously at her.

she took a deep breath, curled her fingers around the guitar’s neck. the lyrics she had worked on for so long danced through her mind (they were a twisted take on “all eyes on me,” the melody fun enough that kids would still enjoy it, the message strong enough that no one would be able to question her intentions). she strummed once, off-key, her exhale amplified through the speakers.

“been here before,” she smirked. carrie remembered the ice that had been in her veins when julie had taken the orpheum’s stage. now, she could put herself in the other girl’s white sneakers. 

carrie closed her eyes, played the chord again, and, with as much confidence as she could find, opened her mouth to sing.

*

“damn, carrie wilson,” a familiar voice said from somewhere behind her. “they all wanna be you.”

carrie turned away from the group of girls still clustered around her (they’d been following her around like she was the queen of england since after her performance). she knew that voice, could never forget that voice, but it couldn’t be… “flynn?”

it was, hair in perfect braids, rainbow bike shorts blindingly bright. she had a present tucked under her arm. “what are you doing here?” it came out a bit sharper than carrie had intended - the old her would be proud.

“last i knew,” flynn walked towards her, stopped close enough that carrie could see a clump of mascara threatening to fall off of a lash. “you didn’t hold the exclusive rights to birthday parties.” a smile tugged at the corners of flynn’s mouth. “cousin’s here, forgot the gift,” she said with a shrug.

“did you, um,” carrie gestured towards the makeshift stage. “did you catch my song?” 

flynn nodded. “the second half, yeah,” she raised an eyebrow. “it was good. about anyone i know?”

carrie smiled, dropped her head, suddenly shy. “hey, do you think - ” flynn’s words cut through her own. “wanna take a walk?”

on their way out of the backyard, flynn dropped the forgotten gift on the picnic table already overflowing with presents, called out to her cousin to be good. carrie’s feet moved on their own.

“i’m surprised your boy toy isn’t here,” flynn said, as they turned onto the sidewalk. carrie opened her mouth, closed it, tucked her hair behind her ear.

“with how weird he’s been acting for months? no. we aren’t getting back together,” she said, firmly. “summer’s for exploration, isn’t it? i’m exploring what it means to be myself,” she stopped, giggled. “that’s so cheesy.”

“no,” flynn insisted. “it’s good. you…” she trailed off. “you’re right. summer is for change.” she turned her head towards carrie. the sun glowed around flynn’s head like a halo. 

“how’s julie?” carrie asked. “i’ve been meaning to get in touch.” they had reached a park, small and quiet. carrie inclined her head at it in question. flynn nodded and they headed towards a bench.

“she’s great,” flynn said. “writing, doing interviews, next up is the big demo session. but, carrie,” flynn sat down, patted the spot next to her. “i didn’t really want to talk about julie. you two have your own stuff, i know you’ll work it out when it’s time.”

“okay,” carrie sat, head clouded with impossible thoughts. “i’m glad you think that. i was horrible to you and julie. you talking to me is a miracle in itself.”

“like you said,” flynn picked up carrie’s hand in her own. “exploring what it means to be yourself? i’m always myself, duh, but… it feels like something’s missing.”

carrie’s heart was a runaway train. 

“you were horrible to us,” flynn continued. “dropped us as soon as you had minions who would help you be a star. you didn’t even need minions, carrie! everything about you makes you a star,” flynn shook her head, braids falling in front of her face. “but that’s in the past. you’ve clearly made some changes,” she gestured towards carrie’s hair. “the pink was pretty cute, though.”

carrie inhaled sharply, blinked a few more times than necessary. “you think i’m a star?”

flynn’s laugh was the most beautiful thing carrie had ever heard. “that’s what i said, isn’t it? yes, you’re a star. growing up, it was like you were my personal star. i always found my way back to you. i don’t know if you ever noticed but -- ”

“i think i’ve loved you since… forever,” carrie said, faster than she had ever spoken in her life. flynn’s eyes were huge behind the curtain of braids. carrie wanted to push them out of the way so she did, just reached up and tucked them back behind flynn’s ear.

“okay, hold up,” flynn said. “i’m about to take back all that good stuff i said about you because you don’t know how to wait your turn.” she pursed her lips, cocked her head. “can i finish?”

carrie nodded, shocked into silence by her own admission.

“as i was saying, before someone interrupted me,” she pointed at carrie, expression softening. “i don’t know if you ever noticed but it was different between me and you. different energy, you know?”

carrie nodded again, more convicted, because, yes, she did know.

“julie is my best friend, always has been. but you? carrie, i thought i’d pass out just from looking at you. there was a time when you thought you were too much to handle but i always wanted more of you. took me a while to realize what that meant, though… growing up and all that kind of gets in the way. when i did, it was too late.” she finally stopped, took a breath, looked at their interwoven fingers like she’d forgotten they were touching. 

“what are you saying, flynn?”

“so no more dirty candi, huh?” flynn changed the subject. “seeing julie at the orpheum really got to you.”

“i wanted to be what everyone expected me to be. i’m trevor wilson’s daughter, there’s so much i can take advantage of. but even my dad can’t give me myself, you know?”

flynn nodded. “from what i just saw on that stage? you know who you are. it might take a while but you’ll find her again.”

“are you going to circle back to my declaration of love or what, flynny?” carrie stood up, let go of flynn’s hand. “i’ve got places to be.”

flynn followed suit, stood and faced carrie straight-on. “you say that,” she said, laying her hand against carrie’s cheek. all of the blood in carrie’s body rushed towards the contact. “but i think the only place you want to be is right here.”

flynn had been right; carrie would find herself again, and she could start by doing something she had only ever dreamed of: she kissed her best friend. to her relief, flynn didn’t pull away, not even close. kissing nick had been nice, but it couldn’t ever compare to how carrie felt in this moment. carrie laced her fingers through flynn’s braids, pulled her closer. flynn melted against carrie, both hands now keeping carrie’s face close.

time stopped.

until flynn’s phone rang, incredibly loud in the silence of the moment. 

“it’s julie,” flynn said, pulling back slowly. “she’s waiting for me, probably. let me just…” she pulled her phone out, hit accept on the call. “hey jules,” she greeted, a sly smile crossing her face. she listened to whatever julie was saying. “yeah, i’ll be there but hold on, there’s someone at the party who wants to talk to you.”

carrie’s eyes went wide; she shook her head furiously. she’d been working on her apology, yes, but it wasn’t ready now. flynn held the phone out to her and that’s when carrie saw it: a baby pink bracelet with a c bead, a little dirty from time, clasped delicately around flynn’s wrist. flowers bloomed out of carrie’s skin. flynn wouldn’t do this if she didn’t think it would be okay. she took the phone, locked eyes with flynn.

“hey, julie,” she said. “it’s carrie. have you got a second?"

\---


End file.
